


Eagle & Shrike

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Non Consensual, Pirates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah, okay….like I really, really needed another plotbunny showing up (one dressed like Errol Flynn, sporting an eyepatch and waving a cutlass no less!) but it did and it bit me and this is the insane result.  So, it's summer hiatus….we need some hot, steamy action at sea, lots of half-naked men, pirates, sailors, dastardly villains and furtive longings that will eventually be fulfilled.  For what it's worth enjoy Finch and Reese in a pirateverse! </p><p>Rating will go from PG-13 up to NC-17.  This work will feature m/m relationships and will be graphic.  If this be not to yer likin' then find passage aboard another vessel.  Fer those of ye so inclined, sign our ship's articles and welcome aboard!</p><p>Adventure awaits!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Foundering

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter I: Lost and Foundering  
Rating: PG to NC-17 (violence and sexual content in later chapters)  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)

NOTES: Blame it on the hiatus, lol!

 **shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

The sky was the bright clear blue of a robin's egg. The sea, for once relatively calm, was bluer still; variegating through shades of indigo, teal and sapphire. Its surface rippled; swells rolling smoothly like muscles beneath the hide of some great beast.

A battered longboat rocked aimlessly between the waves, its course ever-changing as the currents pulled it to and fro. Inside, a lone figure sprawled facedown in the shallow puddle of bilge sloshing in the vessel’s belly. Clad only in a tattered pair of underdrawers, the man’s naked back was criss-crossed by an inordinate number of half-healed and seeping lashmarks whose pattern rivaled that of the most ostentatious compass rose.

What little unbroken skin remained was burned red by the neo-tropical sun and already beginning to blister about the shoulders. The man’s hair, coal black save for a faint silvering at the temples, hung in greasy tendrils over his face, shielding it from the punishing solar rays. Some distance away, the scarlet ribbon that once neatly contained the raven strands floated where mercurial winds had tossed it.

After four days adrift without food or water, the man’s robust body was showing the signs of privation. He’d held out as long as he could before slipping at last into oblivion. The release of death couldn’t come too soon.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

_“Longboat off the starboard bow!”_

_“Crew Mr. Evans?”_

_“One man....looks to be shark food, Captain!”_

_“Assemble a team Mr. Evans, bring him aboard.”_

_“Aye Captain!”_

Quarter an hour later saw the haggard figure stretched out on the deck of a trim brigantine. The ship was well-kept; boasting two masts of fine sail and a crew whose loyalties were not to be bought for any price. Said crew was now gathered in a circle around their 'find'.

A slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman was inspecting the unconscious man's lacerated back with great care; taking her time as she judged the extent of the damage done to him. She pulled the man's hair away from his face and frowned, leaning closer to examine the deep abrasions along both cheeks. The woman cursed, her cheeks flushing with anger.

"What is it doctor?"

"These cuts around his mouth, Captain?" She indicated the bruises and abrasions. "I'd wager the ship they were self-inflicted."

"He did this to himself? How... _why_?" The captain's tone was incredulous.

"He was bound to a mast before being whipped. I believe he bit into the lines to keep from screaming." She looked up at the captain. "He's been sorely used, Sir." The doctor pointed to the man's wrists.

"These rope burns are fresh but beneath them there's no signs of older scarring; nor any at all on his ankles. He's never been in manacles and his body isn't pale and wasted from imprisonment. Whatever his crimes were, he wasn't a habitual offender and I doubt they warranted such torture."

"And if he is a murderer?" The captain's tone was mild.

"Then they would have hung him or shot him. Flogging and casting him adrift speaks more of insubordination to his commander."

"Treason?"

"Death too. My point is, Sir that they would have flung a _body_ overboard, not a survivor."

"Assuming of course he's military."

"He was." The woman pointed to the cuff of the man's drawers. The mark of the king had been embroidered on the outside of the left leg of the garment. "British soldier by the looks of it."

"Damn me! We've gone and hooked ourselves a 'Lobsterback'!" 

The crew started laughing at Evans' sally, only to fall silent at the captain's raised hand. He studied the bloody and bruised lump of humanity at his feet.

_He's a handsome one, even in this condition. Strong too, if his frame is any indication. If he could be convinced to join the crew he'd be of much use._

Making up his mind the captain spoke again to his ship's doctor.

"Well....if this is the case then perhaps his claws can be turned to our advantage."

The crew murmured agreement, with not a few chuckles punctuating their replies.

"Treat his wounds Mister Tillman. Then have him moved to the quarter deck. He'll be watched over there."

"Aye Captain."

"Mister Evans? Steer a course to Whistler Bay. We need more supplies in any case and the crew will benefit from some leisure time."

The dark-skinned acting first mate grinned at his commanding officer. "Aye Captain." 

Their leader nodded, then disappeared into his cabin. Meg Tillman smiled after him, a speculative look in her eye. Perhaps they'd acquired more than just a potential shipmate.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

The man jerked awake with a muffled cry, dislodging the moist cloth that had been laid across his forehead.

"Easy, easy there fellow...." A quiet voice came from somewhere behind him. 

_"Wh-e-"_ he coughed, his throat painfully dry.

"Here." A cup of water was held to his lips as a hand steadied the back of his head. The man drank gratefully, grunting in negation when the cup was removed before he'd slaked his thirst.

"You'll get more again, I promise. Too much too soon will just gripe your belly and come right back up."

"Where am I?" The man spluttered.

"Somewhere safe. Your wounds are being tended and you're out of hostile hands."

The man sucked in great lungfuls of air, his sides heaving. A gentle hand touched his shoulder and his unseen benefactor's voice surprisingly did much to calm him.

"My...wounds?"

"Your back."

The words caused memories to flood into his mind, bringing with them a renewed awareness of his condition. He hissed as the welts striping his torso began to throb.

"Are you in pain sir?"

"Yes." He grudgingly admitted, biting back a whimper as a fresh wave of anguish rolled over him.

"Hold on." 

A slippery substance was rubbed over his back and he exhaled in relief as the harsh stinging subsided to a manageable level.

"What is that?"

"Clove oil. Our doctor swears by its palliative properties."

"Thank you."

The hands continued to stroke his back, soothing him even further. He felt his eyelids droop as consciousness once again slipped away from him.

"Try to sleep some more....you need the rest."

Ever accustomed to following orders, the soldier did as he was told.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

When the soldier woke again it was well after sundown. He lay motionless, trying to ascertain from his senses exactly where he was. He became aware of the gentle rise and fall of the surface beneath him. _I'm on a ship....not navy though, that's for certain. I'd have been tossed in the brig otherwise._

The breeze blowing over him was fresh and held a faint scent of greenery. _We're close to land, wherever we are._ The creak of lines and the rustle of canvas confirmed his assessment of being shipboard and although he could hear the murmur of voices and the merry sound of a concertina; he could not make out words.

“Awake again, sir?” The calm voice once more spoke from behind him and the injured man heard uneven steps approaching. _He has a limp...._

His visitor eased himself down onto the wooden planking, letting bare feet dangle over the edge of the quarterdeck. “Can you manage some broth?”

The soldier realized he was indeed hungry and nodded. Once more a hand cradled the back of his head while another held a bowl to his lips. Mindful of what his new _friend_ had said about the water, the man took small, slow sips of the savory fish concoction. He couldn’t remember any food who's taste was as good in his life. He gave a quiet groan as he swallowed another mouthful and the man feeding him chuckled.

“Hunger makes for the best seasoning, does it not?” A thumb stroked the soldier’s temple. “And even more appreciative for what victuals we _do_ have, eh?”

The bowl was removed from his lips and replaced again with a cup of water. A few sips were all the wounded man could manage before his scanty reserve of strength was used up and his head fell back onto the boards. He was humiliated to feel his body trembling; of showing weakness before this stranger.

“It’s alright. After what you’ve endured, I’m impressed that you’re still alive.”

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

“Harold Wren sir, at your service. And you?”

“Lieutenant Jonathan Reese...formerly of His Majesty’s Horse Guard.” The injured man turned his face away. “And as of now, outcast.”

“What has brought you to these straits, Mister Reese?”

The dispossessed soldier didn’t reply and Wren didn’t press. Reese shivered, his hands shifting beneath the blanket covering his lower half. “Where are my clothes?”

“The drawers you were wearing all but fell off as we brought you on board. While your back is healing, a shirt is inadvisable. If you are able to rise in the morning, I’ll have a new pair of trousers for you.”

Reese squirmed. “I....I have to....”

“Can you stand?”

Jonathan made an attempt to lever himself upward, only to have his arms collapse beneath the weight of his body. He lay there a long moment before shaking his head, his voice laced with self-loathing. “I can barely move.”

“Will you allow me to assist you?”

Reese’s face colored. He _despised_ being dependent upon anyone but it was either accept Wren’s help or piss himself like a babe in napkins. “I’ve no choice it would seem.”

“You’re hurt...grievously hurt Mister Reese. There’s no shame in that, nor in being aided.” 

The smaller man grasped Jon’s hands and helped him roll onto his side. Although it was too dim to make out Wren’s features, Reese could discern the glint of lantern light on spectacles. 

An earthenware tankard was placed into his hands. “Use this.” 

Thankfully, Wren allowed Jonathan to handle this portion of the proceedings and Reese couldn’t help but sigh in relief as his bladder emptied. Handing the vessel back, Jon eased himself back onto his stomach. Wren put the container aside without comment and Reese felt more of the slippery clove oil being applied to his back. The spicy sweet scent of it tickled his nostrils, now that he was in more of a condition to be aware of it.

"I still don't know where I am."

"I might be facetious and say the quarterdeck but to answer you correctly you are aboard the 'Tern'. 

"Who is in command?"

Before Wren could answer, the sound of heavy footsteps came from behind them. Jon saw Harold turn to look at the newcomer, bobbing his head in greeting."

"Good eve Mister Evans."

"I'm to take over looking after our guest. _Captain's orders_." Evan's voice was filled with amusement. "You should remember, you were present at the time."

Wren sighed. "I do recall the incident, Mister Evans." His own tone tight. 

Reese felt Harold's hand pat his shoulder once more. "You're in good hands, Mister Reese. I bid you good evening."

"Har-…Mr. Wren? Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

The off-rhythm steps faded into the distance as a tall, dark-skinned man flopped down on the deck next to Jonathan. He eyed the soldier in amusement. "So Lobsterback….when you're not half-dead are you worth something?"

Reese ground his teeth in annoyance. "Wait until I'm able to hold a sword and you'll find out for yourself."

Evan's laughter echoed off the decks, carrying out over the ocean on the night winds. "I like your spirit, Redcoat. If you have even a bit of the sense I think you might, you'll fit in well with us."

"And just who are _you_?"

"We are the crew of the 'Tern', Lobsterman. Specifically, the crew of Captain Shrike."

_"The pirate?"_

"One and the same. Be glad it was Shrike that found you and not another. I shudder to think what would have become of you in the clutches of Black Eli."

Reese struggled to remain awake, alarmed at realizing that he was now prisoner of one of the Caribbean's most notorious brigands. Once more however his body's need to heal betrayed him and he began to succumb to sleep's claiming embrace.

_Captain Shrike?! I'm surprised the man himself hasn't tortured me for information yet. What's his game? Even that bastard Snow was afraid of Shrike. I have to……_

Jonathan slipped into sleep, his fears of captivity offset by the remembered touch of a gentle hand and a quiet voice in his ear.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

NOTES: And so, it begins.


	2. Dangerous Waters

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter II: Dangerous Waters  
Rating: PG-R (implied violence and sadism)  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)

 

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

"You understand what I'm asking of you?"

"Aye Sir. You know I won't fail you."

The avuncular, merry faced man smiled at his first mate. 

"I never thought you would my friend. Our contemporary has been more of a bother than usual of late and I think now is the perfect time to remove him from the game."

He extended one hand, flicking a finger out to topple the white king; his smile widening as the playing piece rolled off the board. The man known in some circles as Charles Burton gentleman merchant, picked up the black king as he rose from his chair.

His companion tracked Burton's movements with cold, black eyes. He was taller by half a head than his leader, well-muscled and boasting a face that would have been considered beautiful if not for the large scar that formed a puckered crescent extending from the corner of his right eye to the edge of his mouth.

A knock sounded on the cabin door. 

"Enter."

One of Burton's crew slipped inside, bobbing his head respectfully towards the balding man. "Mister Simmons has been found Sir. He's up on deck awaiting your pleasure."

A soft laugh greeted this remark. "Excellent Mr. Brands, we'll be out directly."

Brands nodded again, closing the cabin door behind him. Burton turned back to his companion, motioning him closer. Charles traced his fingers over the scar, smiling as the man kissed their tips.

"Bring him to me and tread cautiously. I want him but I also want you back safe and sound." 

They stepped into the sunlight. A half-circle of men surrounded the kneeling figure of an older man, his hands bound with rope and his short-cropped silver haired head bowed low over the wooden planks. His lean form curled further into itself as Burton stepped closer to the captive. 

Charles studied the prisoner for a moment. When he spoke his voice was mild, almost jovial. 

"Mister Simmons, you've led us on quite a chase." Burton smiled. "Yet here we are at last. You really should have stepped aside graciously when I terminated our agreement." 

Charles shook his head, sighing. "You have only your pig-headed stubbornness to blame for your current predicament.”

Simmons was shaking in fear, finally daring to look up at the man who had been speaking to him with such calm rationality. 

“ _Please_.....I’m sorry! I’ll do anything!” The older man’s hands stretched out towards Burton’s shoes; fingers splaying to touch the toe of the nearest one. “I know where he is, I’ll tell you. Just....have mercy!”

“I accept your apology Mister Simmons. That you’ve offered it at all is to your credit but I regret that it does nothing to change the outcome of our meeting.”

Simmons began to moan, sobs of anguish contorting his body as he prostrated himself on the deck of the _**Hades**_. 

“As to our _friend’s_ current position, we already know and are acting accordingly. Thank you for your generous offer of _assistance_ however.”

Laughter rumbled from the men surrounding the wretched prisoner. 

“And now Mister Simmons, I leave you in the care of my very competent first mate. I think you’ll find his attentions quite....thorough.”

“ **NO!** Please! God in heaven, don’t do this!!”

Burton stepped back as the scar faced man moved in; pulling a keen edged dagger from the sheath at his belt. Charles watched impassively as Simmons screams of denial turned first into broken pleas then inarticulate cries of agony as his life was wrung from him inch by pain-soaked inch. When at last it was done, the heap of torn flesh and clothing at Antonio’s feet was all that remained of the former Navy captain. 

Burton raised a finger and without a word the broken body was shoved overboard, buckets of seawater and lye soap now flooding the space where it had lain as several of the crew swabbed the deck clean of bloodstains. 

Burton turned his face upwards inhaling the fresh breeze and smiling at the gulls swooping low over the ship to take advantage of the bounty they’d been provided with. The scar faced man stepped close to his side, drying his now clean hands on a linen rag that he then tossed over the side. 

“Such a beautiful day, Antonio. A clear sky, fair winds...it makes a man thankful for the joys of this life.” His smile stretched into a grin as he watched two of the raucous seabirds fighting over an ear. 

“At least most of us, anyway.”

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

At some point, Reese must have slept for when he opened his eyes again it was morning. He blinked several times, squinting against the brightness of the sun. With a care for his damaged back, Jonathan shifted so that he could turn his head towards the sound of quiet whistling that came from nearby.

To his disappointment he saw that it was Evans who was watching over him. The dark-skinned pirate laughed outright as Reese tried to hide his reaction.

"Sorry Lobsterback. Missing Wren are you?"

The former soldier made no reply, cheeks flushing as Evans laughed even louder.

"Mr. Wren has more important duties aboard this ship than playing nursie to every bedraggled Redcoat that gets hauled on board the _**Tern**_ , Reese."

"It's Mister Reese to you, pirate."

"I'll accord you the title when I determine you're worthy of it." Evans looked him over. "From what I've seen, you're just a naughty pup who's taken a hiding for showing his teeth to his master. Not much to recommend you as a shipmate or a man."

"By God, you'll eat those words before I'm done with you!"

"Easy Lobster....don't bother growling at me, I've survived far worse than you in my life."

“I find that doubtful, pirate.”

All traces of amusement fled Evans’ face as he leaned in close. “You know nothing about privation or fear, pup.” 

His brows drew together in anger and he scowled down at the ex-soldier. “Don’t bleat about things out of your ken.”

Jonathan’s eyes met his in a stare just as cold. “It looks as if you and your _shipmates_ are doing quite well for yourselves.”

“Thanks to the Captain.” Evans jerked his chin in the direction of the main deck, indicating those members of the crew going about their daily tasks. “Every man-jack aboard this ship owes their life and safety to Captain Shrike. We’d none of us be here without him.”

The African thumped his chest. “I was a slave, Redcoat. Owned by the most sadistic bastard known to mankind. You think your _tattoo_ is bad? Have a look at this.”

Evans pulled his shirt over his head and Jonathan bit down on a startled oath. Thick, dark scars striped the man’s chest and stomach. Evans turned and Reese could see some of the marks circling his flanks to end across his back. His shoulders were equally marked and Jon felt his own weals ache in sympathy. A crude **T** had been branded on his upper left arm.

“Why?”

The African fingered the scar, understanding Reese’s question. 

“I was one of five slaves my master chose to accompany him to sea. We were kept chained in the hold for most of the voyages, only being allowed topside twice a day to relieve ourselves and be given water. We were given bread or pottage once a day.”

Evans’ eyes were bleak as he relived his experience. “We were _starving_ , Redcoat. There was naught to be done but take what we as slaves had no means to buy or barter for. I stole scraps from the bastard’s plate one evening, taking them back down to my fellows to share as we could.”

“Our master smelled meat on us and threatened to kill us one by one unless the thief confessed. When I did, he marked me so that all would know of my _crime_.”

Jonathan was silent in the face of this confession. As a soldier, he’d been witness to much injustice on the part of the enemies he’d fought but..... _I’ve seen cruelty from my own countrymen in equal measure to be sure. How can I claim to stand on the higher moral ground?_

“I apologize, Mister Evans. You’re correct in your assumptions of my ignorance in the matters of which you speak.”

“Huh.....” The dark-skinned man grunted in surprise. “Damn me, Redcoat. You almost make me want to like you.”

Both men eyed each other with a wariness that was tinged with amusement; in the end each smiled, albeit ruefully. The slow tread of heavy footsteps from behind them broke their introspection and Evans caught the soldier’s gaze again.

_“Eyes on me Lobster....the captain’s come to check on you.”_

The pirate’s whisper was full of urgency and Reese complied, unable to stop the tremor of fear that skittered up his spine. The footsteps halted on his right side and Jonathan felt the tip of a boot press into his hip. He swallowed, painfully aware again that he was naked beneath the light blanket draped over his lower extremities.

“And how is our guest, Mister Evans?” The newcomer’s voice was low and quiet, only slightly above a whisper.

“Faring better Captain.” The respect in Evans’ tone wasn’t lost on Reese and his skin twitched where the boot touched him. 

“I reckon he’ll be able to get up by this evening.”

“I trust you’ve been enlightening him on his status with us?”

“We’ve had a most instructive conversation, Captain.”

Keeping his eyes averted, Reese cleared his throat. 

“Captain Shrike, I’m grateful for your efforts in recovering me and for the treating of my wounds. May I inquire however, how long I’m to be held aboard your vessel?”

Jonathan hissed as he felt the sharp point of a cutlass touch his cheek. He closed his eyes and forced himself to be as still as possible.

“And just what, Mister Reese, do you have to return to?” The captain’s whisper was amused. 

Reese felt his face warm as the casual remark sank in. _I have no place. My rank and position have been stripped from me. I am without resources or home._

“It appears that for the present, availing yourself of my hospitality would be best. As for the future....well, we shall deal with that in due time.”

“Captain...is it possible for me to speak with Mister Wren?”

The cutlass was withdrawn from Jonathan’s face. “Why would you wish to, Mister Reese?”

The ex-soldier licked his lips. “I wanted to thank him...he was kind to me yesterday and he didn’t have to be.”

“Harold Wren is a busy man....if he has time and is so inclined then you will meet with him again.” The captain chuckled. “It is a ship after all, I daresay you’ll see all of us in due course.”

The footsteps slowly retreated and Jonathan risked a glance at Evans, his eyes widening at the speculative look on the pirate’s face. When the African met his gaze, his smile was tight. 

“Captain Shrike is a fair man, Redcoat. But make no mistake, he’s tough as Neptune himself and just as ruthless when its warranted. Don’t cross him.”

Evans stood up. “I’ll get you some food.”

Reese listened as the sound of bare feet trailed off into the distance. His brain struggled to process all that had happened to him. In just over a day he’d gone from near death to a situation that although unorthodox in the extreme, at least allowed him some hope of survival. Indeed he’d been better treated aboard the _**Tern**_ than he had during most of his time with the British army. 

He closed his eyes, thinking once more of Wren’s gentle voice and hands. He very much wanted to see Harold again...although he was reluctant to admit to himself just why that was the case.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

Notes: Things will begin to ‘heat up’ very soon. I hope all of you are enjoying this and thanks for the encouragement I’ve received so far. There’s much more to come!


	3. Exploring the Waters

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter III: Exploring the Waters  
Rating: PG-R (implied violence and sadism)  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)  
Warnings: Corporal punishment, moderate torture and humiliation

 **shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

_The call to assemble had been set for noon sharp. Snow left nothing to chance and he wanted every member of the crew to suffer for their shipmate's transgressions. By the time punishment was to be administered, the officer wanted his subordinates to be clamouring to witness to the prisoner's torment, be done with it and so end their own._

_The condemned man in question stood now to one side, wrists in irons and flanked by two soldiers, their blunderbusses digging into his torso as incentive to his capitulation. His face was stoic, giving no hint of the turmoil in his mind. He was seething with anger at the injustice of it all, but not one trace of his true feelings leaked past his calm facade. Blue eyes stared straight ahead, acknowledging none of the murmured questions or crude jests at his expense. He simply....waited._

_When the sun was directly overhead, the captain of the **HMS Citadel** stepped to the edge of the quarterdeck. He looked down at his men gathered on the main deck and unfolded a large square of parchment. Clearing his throat he began to read....._

_“All take heed and bear witness to these proceedings of censure in regards to one Jonathan Reese, Lieutenant of the 4th Division, Coventry Platoon of His Majesty’s Horse Guards.”_

_“Whereas Lieutenant Reese has in the presence of his comrades, refused a direct order of action from his superior officer; and whereas that order being issued a second time and again being refused; therefore Jonathan Reese now duly stands accused of insubordination, dereliction of duty and inciting dissention in the ranks.”_

_“Having been judged guilty of the aforementioned crimes, his sentence will be pronounced and carried out by his commander, Colonel Marcus Snow.”_

_An immaculately uniformed man stepped up beside the captain. Colonel Snow was every inch the consummate British officer, from the pristine appearance of his powdered wig to the tips of his shining black boots. His build was fit and his face would have been considered quite comely were it not for the cruel lines bracketing his mouth and coldness of his eyes. His expression as he gazed upon the condemned soldier was positively gloating._

_**Jonathan Reese has contested my authority for the last time. It ends here and now. I shall be very pleased to have him enjoy the hospitality of the Citadel’s brig for the remainder of this mission.** When Snow spoke his tone was mild, almost regretful but his voice carried easily to all of the watchers._

_“In accordance with the articles of discipline set forth by His Majesty, Lieutenant Reese is to be relieved of his officer’s rank and will endure ten strokes of the lash.”_

_In truth, Snow would have liked to beat Reese until all the skin had been flayed from his back but, vengeful as the man was, he retained enough commonsense to know just how far he could push the watching soldiers under his command before they rose up to protest his actions. He and the ship’s captain would be two against almost a hundred and, in open waters with no recourse for escape, ill-equipped to handle a full-scale mutiny._

_Snow moved to the forecastle, striding up to stand in front of his former officer. **Such a pity** , he thought. Until very recently Jonathan Reese had been the model of what a soldier should be; obedient, loyal and unquestioning of orders. Snow had such high hopes for his underling, both professionally and on a more personal level. Even as he regarded his prisoner, Marcus felt a tightening in his gut and knew that he desired the man still. **All that is past now....**_

_“Mister Reese, have you any final statement on your behalf before sentence is carried out?”_

_Jonathan’s eyes locked onto those of his colonel and he allowed his contempt to spill out. “The orders I disobeyed were nothing more than the cruelest barbarism. They were not in accordance with the King’s Law nor common decency.”_

_“You are unrepentant of your actions, then?”_

_“If to be merciful to innocents is considered unrepentant, then yes I am. Had I the chance to relive those moments I would have acted exactly as I did, changing nothing.”_

_“Very well, Mister Reese...you leave me no choice.”_

_Colonel Snow turned again to the watching men and raised his voice. “The prisoner is refusing to accept culpability or beg for leniency. Sentence is increased to twenty lashes and Jonathan Reese will be put off the ship.”_

_Subdued mutters greeted this pronouncement, but none of the men stepped forward to contest the harshness of Snow’s actions. Satisfied, the colonel nodded to Reese’s guards._

_“Strip him.”_

_Mindful of their charge’s notoriety as a close-fighter, the guards motioned two more of their fellows forward and, as one kept a pistol clapped to Reese’s temple, the rest began to remove his clothing._

_Jonathan’s cheeks burned as his body was systematically revealed to the crew, until his underdrawers were all that was left him. He felt Snow’s eyes slide over his skin and was unable to repress a shiver of revulsion. Reese had no qualms about his own attraction to other men but the Colonel’s advances had left him feeling soiled and Jon had rejected Snow on more than one occasion._

_He watched as the uniform his parents had spent their savings to buy him, along with the price of his officer’s commission, was thrown to one side to be divided amongst his platoon. His weapons and personal effects would go the same way._

_“Bind him to the mainmast.”_

_Reese’s captors unfastened his manacles and all but dragged him over to the gigantic post. Pushing him forward, they bound his wrists around it. Jonathan could hear Snow murmuring something to one of the crewmen and the pattering of bare feet on the decks as the man scrambled to do the officer’s bidding._

_The sound of the Colonel’s boots clicked loudly in Reese’s ears as Snow moved in close behind him._

_“You had everything, Jon. A fine career, the promise of more accolades to come and an offer of companionship.” Snow’s voice was quiet, for Reese’s ears alone._

_“You chose the maunderings of your bleeding heart instead of trusting to your prospects....instead of trusting **me**. And now, you reap the fruits of your decision.”_

_Snow stepped back and held out his hand for the whip. Marcus shook out the lash and swung his arm forward, putting all his weight behind the stroke._

_Jon’s shoulders bunched as the snake of boiled and braided cowhide bit into his skin. **That’s not a nine-tails! It’s a bloody carter’s whip!!** The pain was excruciating, tearing through the layers of epidermis and leaving bloody streaks in its wake. Refusing to give Snow the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, Reese turned his face to the mast; biting down hard on the ropes that helped hold the great spire of timber in place._

_He could feel the harsh woven strands cutting his mouth and face but forced himself to voice no sound. Each stroke was like a burning brand and Jon’s body writhed underneath the brutal beating...the agony was...._

_“No... **NO!** ”_

“Mister Reese? Mister Reese...Jonathan?”

Jon’s head jerked up, his eyes wide and unseeing; still in thrall to the memories his dreams had summoned. He dimly registered the voice as different from Snow’s... _calming_

“Jonathan...you’re safe, no-one is harming you.”

_Comforting, quiet... **not** Marcus....._

Reese’s eyes rolled back and he felt warm fingers catch his face, lowering his head gently down to the deck as he fell unconscious once more. This time his sleep was dark and quiet. 

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

True to Evans' prediction, when Jonathan woke he was feeling markedly better. Dr. Tillman examined his wounds; pronouncing herself pleased with how they were healing. For Reese's part he was discomfited to be attended by a female physician; turning his head away when she whisked the blanket from him to check his legs and feet. 

"You can get up later if you like, just don't push yourself Mr. Reese." Meg covered him again, patting his shoulder in an unconscious gesture of comfort. 

"Eat what you’re given and drink as much as you can. I'll be by in two days to look you over again." With that she was gone.

_A woman doctor?! Unheard of on any ship but as the healer for a band of **pirates**?_

Jonathan's brain whirled. The crew of Captain Shrike was shaping up to be unlike any description of brigands that Reese had ever been privy to. He quietly observed the activities on the main deck. Several of the buccaneers were aloft in the rigging, checking the lines; one even mending a small tear in the sail; straddling the cross-tree of the main mast with as much ease as if he were sitting a horse. A dark-skinned youth in his teens perched high in the crow's nest above him, keeping an eye out for anything of note.

Reese found this unusual as the brigantine was still at anchor in the bay of a beautiful and uninhabited island. A pair of longboats passed from shore to ship and back, bringing fresh provisions and water aboard. The soldier's attention was caught by the sight of an African woman emerging from below decks. She was tall and strongly built for a lady, standing over five feet. Like the rest of the crew Reese had seen, she wore a pair of short sailor's trousers and a linen shirt, this one dyed a faded blue. The woman's feet were bare and she strode about the deck confidently.

A thickset man with dark curly hair followed her out into the sunlight. Together, he and the woman began going over the deck guns, carefully inspecting each for any signs of damage. At one point she looked at her companion; saying something that caused the man to burst out laughing and pull her into an embrace. Jonathan stared open-mouthed as they kissed, the intimacy going unremarked by their fellows.

_She's part of the crew and from all appearances, the master gunner! Is he her husband? Lover? Damned if I know on this ship…._

Breaking the kiss, the woman turned her head skyward and putting fingers to her lips let out a piercing whistle. The lad in the crow's nest waved, nodding his head as the woman motioned him down. The man holding her gave her one last squeeze and, with an agility belying his barrel-shaped frame, scrambled into the rigging.

He climbed swiftly upward, pausing to exchange news with the young man; even gripping his shoulder affectionately before continuing to the lookout perch. Once settled, the man produced a spyglass and took over the watch.

The young man trotted up to his summoner, giving her a brief hug and a peck on the cheek before disappearing below. _If the man is her paramour, the boy must be her son…..but not of **his** get, certainly._

Jon closed his eyes, shaking his head at all the contradictions the _**Tern**_ was presenting him with. Admittedly, everything he’d accepted as truth about pirates had been disseminated to him via his commanding officers or from the crews of the various ships his platoons had taken as transport but this.... _I need to think._ He was asleep again before he knew it. 

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

The smell of food tickled him into wakefulness. It was now early evening, the sun just starting to disappear behind the island's green and distant mountains. Warily, Jonathan sat up, wrapping the blanket around his lower half as he allowed his feet to dangle off the quarterdeck. 

A bowl of roasted meat and a tankard of grog had been left at his side. He ate with gusto, the juicy pork slices all but melting on his tongue. The rum had been watered down and Jon detected the refreshing tang of lemon along with some spices in the mixture. 

"I understand you wanted to see me,."

"Harold...." Jonathan blurted, nearly dropping his food as the pirate materialized undetected at his side. He flushed.

"I...apologize for my familiarity...you startled me."

Reese looked up, taking in the man's appearance fully for the first time. Wren was older than himself by a good ten years. His frame was lean and slight but from what Jon could see of his arms and lower limbs, his muscles were toned from hard work. 

Wren's face was smooth, save for his neatly trimmed sideburns. His eyes were the pale gray-blue of rain clouds over the ocean. As Jon remembered from the previous evening, Wren wore spectacles. The man was dressed simply in a pair of well-worn canvas sailor's pants and a saffron colored shirt, open at the throat. A thatch of silvery brown was visible on his chest and Reese swallowed as a familiar warmth curled low in his belly.

Wren's hair was close-cropped, only a small tuft showing at the front of his head, the rest being concealed beneath a linen work cap that fitted close over his skull. As before, he was barefoot and Jonathan could see calluses along the edges of both extremities; although those on his right heel were more pronounced. Wren also favored his right leg and Reese deduced this was the source of his limping gait. Jon wondered what injuries the pirate had sustained to leave him with such a severe infirmity. 

The disabilities notwithstanding, Harold Wren was every inch the scholarly type that normally caught Jonathan's interest. Intelligence and humor lit the pirate's eyes and Reese had already been the recipient of the man's gentle courtesies. With all the barbarity and violence Jon had endured in military life, the soldier preferred a partner with whom he might share warmth and kindness. Indeed, Jon's soul craved it as a plant would turn towards the nurturing sun. He could sense these things in Wren and it made him want to know the man better. 

Harold Wren studied the man studying him; lips upturned in amusement at Reese's intense appraisal. “Do I pass muster, Mister Reese?”

Jon flushed once more, dropping his gaze as he realized his rudeness.

Wren’s quiet laughter held no hint of mockery. On the contrary, it did much to put the ex-soldier at his ease....as if the older man were a good friend sharing a private jest. Harold nodded to the remains of Jon’s supper. 

“You should finish that....we don’t often dine on wild pig.”

Reese continued his interrupted meal as Harold eased himself down onto the planking at his side. He swallowed his mouthful and turned to his companion. “Benefit of being at anchor?”

“Aye, Mister Reese.” Wren pointed to the island. “A scant generation ago, the Spaniards tried to tame this rock. They failed but the porkers they brought with them thrived. There’s a small feral population here now; one that we make good use of when we stop here.”

“You don’t take any on board?”

Wren sniffed in disdain. “Gracious no! Swine make an infernal mess in the holds. The crew would mutiny to a soul if it were to be attempted. And pork doesn’t keep well in any case. We’ve no space or resources for pickling vats, tis easier to jerk other meat and consume that.”

“I’d have thought hams would-”

Wren laughed again, bestowing a shrewd look on the taller man. “That’s your soldier’s outlook showing.” Harold gestured to the forecastle and his crew mates lingering over their own evening meals.

“We’re not butchers, nor do we have the means or time to smoke and cure large cuts of meat. It’s one thing to have experts supply an army or navy, quite another to have to do the job yourself.”

Jonathan nodded, realizing that Wren was right. _I’ve always taken for granted that I’d be given food; never bothering to think of where it’s come from....or how it was made._ So much of a soldier’s life was taken up by obeying orders.

Wren pulled a bundle of rope from a pouch at his side and wielding a glover's needle with great precision, set about fashioning a pair of sandals from the braided hemp stitched with waxed cording. 

The two men sat in companionable silence for a bit as Jon finished the last of his food. The soldier marveled at the intense concentration on Wren's face. He'd bided his time out of courtesy up to now but Reese at last found himself unable to fight posing questions to Wren.

"What are your duties, Mister Wren?"

Harold looked up from his sewing, pale eyes magnified behind his spectacles. 

"I have many responsibilities on the _**Tern**_ but I suppose the most important of them is that I am the keeper of our rutter and charts. I also plot most of our courses."

"You're the pilot then." Inwardly Reese was pleased to have his suppositions proven right. He knew the older man's position must involve scholar's work on some level.

"Something like," Wren smiled "at least what passes for such on a ship like ours."

Jonathan was full of frank curiosity. "how did you come to be a part of Shrike's crew? You don't look the usual sort for piracy."

Harold grew still, his gaze turning somber. "And just what is the _usual sort_ of person for this work?"

Reese, sensing that he'd offended his companion struggled now to explain.

"Well, I-" Wren held up a finger to silence him.

"Allow me to surmise…illiterate, dirty, perpetually inebriated and debauched?" Wren's voice was hard, his eyes snapping in anger.

"While I concede that there are pirates out there that merit such derogatory appellations, I charge you to name one instance of those behaviors observed aboard the _**Tern**_."

Jonathan studied his feet. "In truth, I cannot. I have been treated well by everyone I've encountered on the crew…most especially by yourself, Mister Wren."

He met Harold's eyes and the older man could see the regret in them. 

"I apologize, sir. I have no right to judge any of you. Even Captain Shrike himself has yet to materialize as the fire-breathing demon he has been painted as."

Wren actually laughed at the description. "Well, I can honestly say there are no demons aboard, unless you count Ulysses."

"Ulysses?"

At that moment a large ball of gray tabby fur fell from the poop deck to land between them. Resolving itself into a sizeable tom, the striped cat investigated Reese's empty bowl before uttering a low 'miaow' of complaint. Wren laughed again, reaching out to scratch the cat's ears. A rusty purr rumbled out of the wide throat.

"Our ship's cat. He is the very devil on any rats that might have the poor sense to board us."

Jonathan joined in the laughter, glad that the small rift between them was now mended. He watched Wren settle the cat in his lap and rub around the feline's jaws and ruff.

_He must be an exceptional navigator to have been kept on after being crippled so. He’s certainly no fighter, not with his build...or eyesight. Perhaps….._

Reese wondered if the man had a partner. The last companionship Jonathan enjoyed had been the company of a clark at his platoon's stopover in St. Thomas. That was almost a year ago and while it had been enjoyable, the clark was young and inexperienced. Although Jon had taken great pains to gently show Matthias how pleasant and satisfying such love could be; Reese preferred men of more mature years. Someone who was comfortable with their desires and knew what they wanted.

Harold Wren was _exactly_ the type Jon wanted as a long-term companion. He was opening his mouth to ask about Wren's background further when Evans' head popped up from the main deck ladder. 

"You're being asked for Mister Wren."

Reluctantly, Harold removed Ulysses from his knees and tilted his head at the African.

"And who would be doing so?"

"Masters Michael and Taylor."

Wren winced, rubbing the side of his face. "Lesson time is it? I'd forgotten. Tell the lads to meet me in the forecastle, I'll be along directly."

Harold stowed his sewing in his bag and clumsily rose to his feet.

"Mister Evans will escort you to the head, Mister Reese. I think a short walk will do you good."

Jonathan nodded farewell and watched the Wren carefully navigate the wooden steps down to the main deck. 

"You liked the pig, eh Lobsterback?"

"My name is Jonathan, Mister Evans."

The dark man eyed him warily, then his face broke into a smile. "Fair enough." He held his hand out to the soldier. "I'm Tyrell."

Reese gripped it with his own, shaking it warmly. "Truce, Tyrell…for _now_?"

"Aye Jonathan….for now."

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

NOTES: Things have been slow so far, I realize but our poor, flogged Reese has had to heal and now that he's able to move about it will get more interesting. There's always a bit of backstory to include to, as well as the historical stuff that I just love to write about. Dastardly plots are in the offing and will be balanced by encounters of an intimate nature. Thanks for jumping on board with this summer cruise!


	4. Ripples and Reflections

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter IV: Ripples and Reflections  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)

 

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

**_Personal Log: 15th May, 1725_ **

**_I find myself strangely unsettled by the presence of our castaway. To be sure he looks to have been ill-used and I am almost universally minded to give him full benefit of the doubt in regards to his situation....so much that it causes me to question my own motives. He has yet to reveal the particulars of his being set adrift. While I am curious as to the circumstances I, of all persons, can appreciate his keeping circumspect...for now at least._ **

**_I admit frankly, Jonathan Reese is a most comely man. His injuries in no way detract from his aesthetic appeal, unlike in my own case. As fate would have it, he is exactly the type that I am most drawn to. He is somewhat younger than myself. His surety of beliefs has been sorely tested and if his trust could but be reclaimed, his courage and convictions would make him a fine addition to my crew._ **

**_I confess to craving more contact with him. His whole being cries out for comfort, though he asks not for it. And although I cannot fathom why, he does seem to have developed an affection towards me....one which I very much would like to return. In the short time Harold Wren has looked after him, Mr. Reese has shown the ‘crippled, middle-aged seaman’ courtesy and evinced a sincere interest in his life and person._ **

**_It has been three years now since Nathan was taken from me. True, his heroism saved my life but if he had to die then I wish I too had been felled. My heart has been closed ever since…until now. I don't know what to do….if I even SHOULD do anything. My decision to show Mister Reese 'Wren's' face was to get his measure. I like what I have seen so far. Even Mister Evans has warmed up to him; which is a miracle unto itself, given Tyrell's history._ **

Harold put aside his quill, resting his head in his hands and sighed. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to refrain from caressing Reese’s back when he first began to watch over him, simply for the sheer pleasure of wanting to touch the man. And though he’d seen what lay beneath the soldier’s blanket, Wren would not take advantage of one injured just to gratify his baser needs. The mere thought was anathema. 

If Reese reached out to _him_ however, Harold knew he would allow Jonathan liberties with his person that none other could have. Thoughts of those strong, large hands pressing Wren back against the deck planks; removing his shirt and slipping inside his breeches to stroke and tease him…. _damn!_ Uttering a quiet oath, Wren rose from his chair, moving to stand by the bank of windows at the rear of his cabin. 

How had this half-drowned, beaten stranger managed to captivate him so quickly? Harold took a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Jonathan Reese aside by concentrating on cleaning the ship's head. This strategy worked almost too well and Wren was forced to take a restorative sip of wine before gathering his Latin and geography texts and going to meet his pupils.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

_One hundred, thirty-five feet...a scant forty-five yards and yet it was one of the longest, most exhaustive journeys of Jonathan's life to date._

His legs were as unsteady as jackstraws and were it not for Tyrell’s arm taking much of his weight, Reese would not have made it. Jonathan was hard-pressed to stay upright and keep the blanket wrapped about his waist. Heat flooded his cheeks as he realized many of the crew were watching him.

"They're curious." Evans' amused rumble was for Jon's ears alone. "All they know is that you're not an enemy, even if you're not a shipmate."

Reese grunted, appreciating the humor of his situation. "Exotic beast am I?"

Tyrell laughed. "Aye, something like."

A tall, heavyset man with thinning black hair and brown eyes grinned at the two men as they approached. He held a hand out to Reese. 

"Name's Trask, Ernesto Trask; ship's carpenter."

"Pleased to meet you Mister Trask, I'm Jonathan Reese."

The newcomer waved his hand in negation. "Stow the formality Jon. Call me Trask, everyone does…even the captain." His smile widened, the whiteness of his teeth framed by a mustache and goatee one shade darker than his hair.

Jonathan smiled back, instinctively liking the jovial man. One by one, others of the crew came forward to acquaint themselves with their castaway and Reese found himself unable to find fault with any. The women mixed easily with the men and it was clearly evident that they were on equal footing with their male counterparts. 

He'd already met Dr. Tillman, and it turned out that the **_Tern's_** cook was an ethereal looking woman named Lily. Jonathan had already sampled the tangible results of her expertise. She was appreciative of the ex-soldier's compliments, smiling in thanks. 

The African woman he'd rightly reckoned the master gunner appeared to be the only person inclined to hold him at arm's length. Josslyn Carter didn't nod or smile when he introduced himself. She eyed him with an obvious distrust, her expression amply stating that she expected trouble from him, it was only a question of when Reese would show his true colors.

The stocky man who'd taken over watch turned out to indeed be her lover. Lionel Fusco was as Irish as they came, although admitted freely that _"my da was Italian, but he took to roving before I was even born. No-one's seen nor heard from him since."_

Lionel was the Tern's quartermaster and as open and friendly as Carter was aloof. He had an infectious smile and was admired by all on board, if for no other reason than he was the _only_ member of the crew who dared stand up to Joss; even winning some of their arguments on occasion.

It was Fusco who slung Jon's other arm over his shoulders to help him the last few steps to the ship's head. Reese gratefully disappeared inside the low-ceilinged, triangular room at the nose of the vessel. He sighed as he emptied both bladder and bowels down one of the circular openings in the long bench; making liberal use of the bucket of seawater and net of clean rags hung on the wall.

He now felt almost human. His back was still sore but rest and decent food had done wonders for his condition. Jonathan thought that by tomorrow he might even be able to help with some of the more sedentary tasks on board. Lily had assured him that there were always vegetables and fruits to be peeled and sliced or a bird to be plucked. Reese had been surprised to see fowl coops along one side of the main deck. Evans had assured him that this was commonplace on many ships. At least those that cared about feeding their crew properly. 

“The captain himself had insisted upon them.” Tyrell remarked, his tone full of pride for his leader’s forethought.

When Jonathan emerged back on deck, twilight had descended. Tyrell and Fusco helped him back to his makeshift pallet on the quarterdeck. The two pirates left him to his privacy and Reese's eyelids drooped as his overtaxed body gave into weariness. Just before sleep took him Jonathan once again heard the slow, measured tread of the captain's boots approaching him from behind.

"G'evning sir…." he slurred, starting to turn over. A firm hand pressed against his shoulder, pushing him back into the blankets.

"At ease, Mister Reese." Shrike's whisper was laced with amusement. "You need the rest more than I require adherence to protocol."

"Aye sir."

"You seem to be fitting in with the crew."

Jonathan blinked, struggling to stay conscious. "Like them….'nd Wren…" he mumbled, too tired to censure his speech. 

A quiet chuckle greeted his words. "So I've seen. Perhaps you might decide to stay with us then, eh?"

"Might…think I coul-" Reese's voice petered out as sleep took him at last. Jonathan dreamed of a gentle hand stroking his forehead and a familiar, fond voice murmuring, _"Sleep well Jon."_

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

Wren retired to his cabin for the night, after checking in with the first watchman that all was well. He undressed; hand pausing on the drawstring of his drawers before releasing the knot and allowing them to slip down his legs. It would be a warm night and Harold didn't fancy sweating under layers of night shirt and sheets. Stepping out of the garment he placed it with his other clothing and extinguished his oil lamp.

The captain sat down on his bed, moonlight from the stern windows highlighting his nudity. Placing his glasses in their box, he lay down and sighed. There had been much to co-ordinate this day and Wren dutifully went over the preparations they'd made thus far. _We'll be ready to sail in two days....it will be good to return to Port Royal and consult with our contacts._

Harold yawned, rubbing his hand over his face and then down over his chest to scratch his stomach. His mind wandered back to his last conversation with Jonathan Reese; his touch relaxing into a caress. 

_"Like them….'nd Wren…"_ the ex-soldier had mumbled just before drifting off.

_I find myself liking you as well, Mister Reese....Jonathan....Jon._

Harold's hand grasped his cock, stroking it from base to crown as he remembered Reese lying facedown beneath the thin blanket, bare to the hips; the angry welts on his shoulders fading as they healed. The captain's breathing hitched as his arousal grew. Giving his penis a last squeeze reached out to dip his fingers in the lamp oil. He spread his legs, fingers pushing behind his balls to stroke his tight opening. 

Harold gasped as the contact sent spikes of pleasure arcing from spine to groin, bringing him to full hardness. His mind pictured Jonathan, clothed in an immaculate uniform of scarlet, bending over Wren's naked, writhing form; mouth on Harold's nipples; suckling him as Reese's fingers worked his opening. His free hand captured one of the sensitive buds, tweaking it sharply.

_"Holy God….."_ Harold gasped and it seemed that he could almost feel the red wool coat scratching the skin of his belly. His hips bucked against his own hand as his slick fingers pushed in deeper, seeking the small bump of flesh that would…..

_"Bloody hell….Jon, **please** ……"_

With a muffled sob Harold reached completion, ribbons of white striping his chest as the Reese of his imagination buried himself inside Wren's ass, thrusting hard enough to make the bunk creak. Trembling from the bliss of his release, Harold panted. Wren couldn’t remember the last time he’d pleasured himself. He’d all but given it up, memories of his intimacies with Nathan making any other experience unfulfilling.

Wren rose on shaky legs; moving to his washstand to clean up. He returned to bed, rolling over on his uninjured side. The intriguing, attractive soldier had well and truly wormed his way into the captain’s soul. Harold’s emotions were a tangled mix of desire and fear. _I wonder if we-_ , he slipped into unconsciousness even as he wondered whether what he hoped for might actually be possible.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

NOTES: Bless everyone for their patience on my delay in updating this story. I have not abandoned the Tern or her stalwart crew. I hope to be updating 'Eagle & Shrike' on a more regular basis now that my LJ Gift Exchange story has been completed and thanks again to everyone who's read/reviewed my silly little pirate yarn. Speaking of which: International Talk Like A Pirate Day is coming up on Sept. 19th! Sharpen yer cutlasses and be ready me hearties! Y'AAAARRRR!


	5. Close Quarters

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter V: Close Quarters  
Rating: PG-13   
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

Reese woke to find a pair of sailor's slops next to his head. Happy to have clothing of any sort, he summoned the strength to stand up and don the trousers. They fit him well enough and enjoying a newfound sense of freedom, Jonathan folded his blanket into a neat bundle, placing it against the quarterdeck cabin side wall. He was debating whether to attempt going down to the galley when a familiar figure emerged from the main deck hatch.

_Harold….._ Jon was aware of a warm feeling welling up in him as the older man limped across the deck. Wren, his haversack slung over his chest, carried a bowl and earthenware tankard in his hands. He smiled up at Jonathan.

"Good morning Mister Reese. I see you're feeling well enough to be up and about."

Jon grinned down at the pirate. "With the aid of these." He rubbed a hand along one canvas clad thigh; noting how Wren's eyes followed the movement.

"I brought you some food but I will have to ask you to join me, I'm afraid." Harold sounded apologetic as he nodded to his burdens.

Reese bobbed his head. "Of course."

Carefully, he descended the ladder and joined Wren on a storage crate. Jonathan accepted the victuals with enthusiasm. He concentrated on his food; all but inhaling the slurry of peas-porridge liberally spiked with bits of roast from the previous day. The small beer was the perfect foil for such salty provender.

Wren studied his companion out of the corner of his eye. The ex-soldier was much improved. He’d filled out a bit; his ribs not quite as prominent as they were when he was brought aboard.

“I have assisted Doctor Tillman with patients from time to time...would you allow me to examine your back?”

Reese nodded, swallowing down the last of the beer before setting bowl and cup aside. He turned away, presenting Harold with an unimpeded view of his torso. Wren reached out, humbled by how quickly Jonathan had come to trust him.

Reese closed his eyes as Wren traced the lines on his shoulders with gentle fingers. Harold inspected each welt and scar minutely, checking for any signs of infection. Jon sighed, his muscles relaxing under the soothing contact. It had been so long since he’d been the recipient of such care and he very much wished to know the touch of Wren's hands in a more intimate fashion. 

"These look better, Mister Reese. They all seem to be healing cleanly. Are you still in any pain?

Jonathan shook his head. "Not much. The skin across my shoulders is tight. 'Tis the fatigue that's most difficult to bear."

"You need to move about more now that you're able." Harold's tone was kind.

Reese turned to face the older man again, his eyes thoughtful as he studied the pirate. 

"Thank you Mister Wren."

"Harold, please."

Reese's smile took Wren's breath away.

"Thank you Harold. Consider yourself welcome to make free with my own name."

Wren smiled in return. "Very well Jonathan."

"Jon…."

Harold nodded. "Jon it is."

The two men passed the better part of an hour talking about shipboard life, navigation and the vagarities of winds and tide. At length Wren fell silent, touching his companion's arm to catch his attention.

"I almost forgot, I have something for you." The pirate reached into his sack and pulled out the now completed rope sandals. 

"I thought you might have need of these. Most of the crew have soles like boiled leather. You're used to boots and the deck planking can cause galls to form on your skin until it toughens."

He gestured to Reese's feet. "May I see how they fit?"

Jonathan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. _Wren was making these for me? It must have taken him most of the night..._

Harold scooted off the crate to end up kneeling in front of Jon. He lifted the younger man's feet one at a time, carefully checking each for signs of chafing or blisters before easing on the shoes and adjusting the heelstraps. Jonathan watched him, wishing he had the courage to reach out and ruffle Wren's spiky hair. He was touched by the man's generosity and hoped that he wasn't mis-reading the intentions behind it.

"Harold, thank you but you should not have gone to such effort."

Wren made a few final adjustments, satisfied with the results of his labor. He looked up at Reese, pleased at the reception of his gift. 

"It was no trouble at all Jon."

Reese stood; crossing to the port side of the ship and back. The hemp strands had been pounded soft and the sandals were cushioning to his sunburned feet. He laughed in delight. "They're perfect." 

"Looks as if you've gotten your sealegs back as well." Harold stepped up to Jon's side. The two men took their time walking a circuit of the **_Tern's_** deck; stopping to greet others of the crew who'd taken up their daily duties.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

Jonathan felt well enough to assist Lily with her preparations for the crew's supper. Wren left him in the cook's care, citing that he had work of his own to attend to.

Reese watched him depart; keeping his eyes fixed on Harold's ungainly progress until the pirate was hidden amidst a group of his shipmates. It had been a morning of revelations, for both men. Jon knew now that Wren had more than a passing fancy for him and the ex-soldier's own attraction to this quixotic, clever man was deepening.

_Lily introduced Jon to her young assistant. Adam Sanders had joined the crew a year ago after being shipwrecked in Port Royal. Apprenticed to his uncle, the cook for a prestigious Boston family, Sanders gladly accompanied the household when they relocated to Caribbean. Their ship sailed straight into a storm as it approached within sight of land; breaking up under the battering unleashed on it by the tempest._

_Adam never ascertained what became of his employers or his uncle and considered himself fortunate to have survived. It was Ernesto Trask who first noticed the bedraggled twenty year old attempting to talk his way into a tavern job. Knowing Lily could use the help, suggested Sanders come back to the **Tern** and try his luck._

_Adam had fit right in with the unorthodox crew; proving to have not just an aptitude for cooking but a shrewd financial sense as well. He'd begun learning to manage the ship's accounts under the watchful eye of the **Tern's** purser one Leonard Tao. Tao, a card-sharp of the worst kind, was also a man who could acquire twice the goods for half the money anyone else might spend. _

_Jonathan found Tao's outrageous stories of his adventures prior to boarding the ship almost unbelievable. He'd been dragged before the captain to explain why he attempted to relieve Mister Evans of his purse and found he didn't want to leave. Leon, as he insisted on being called, took to life on the sea quickly and reveled in his newfound 'family'._

Reese continued to observe the crew, hoping to catch sight of Wren but the older man was conspicuous by his absence. _He must be updating the ship's charts. I wonder if Shrike is with him....._

Jonathan felt a spike of jealousy in his gut. His mind's eye had pictured the captain as close to himself in height, well-built and nearer to Wren's age than Reese was. Based on his brief exchanges with the man, Jon already knew that Shrike possessed a keen wit. It stood to reason that he would be intelligent as well. The captain led an organized crew and maintained a well-kept ship. 

_He keeps to himself, that much is certain._ Jonathan finished cutting up the last of the cabbages he'd been tasked to prepare; dumping them into an iron pot between his knees. _If Shrike wants to remain aloof, then **I** must do my best to discover who he is._ Jonathan had been a soldier after all; adept at observing his opponents. Granted, he wasn't facing an enemy across the field of battle but Reese believed in gathering as much intelligence as possible in unknown situations. Those tendencies would stand him in good stead now.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

Tyrell Evans watched his leader pacing the cabin; the older man's uneven steps audible in the confined space. The acting first mate's fingers continued splicing together the section of lines he was repairing; a task he'd done so often that he could complete it almost without thought.

"You are charting a dangerous course with this, captain...." Evans comment was quiet but the disapproval in his voice was thick.

Wren pursed his lips in exasperation. "I _am_ aware of the risks, Mister Evans."

Tyrell shrugged noncommittally, dropping his eyes to his work. He'd kept a sharp eye on Shrike and the newcomer. As much as he'd come to like Jonathan Reese and believe that the ex-soldier was a man of honor, despite the circumstances behind his being abandoned by his officers; Evans could not help being wary.

Tyrell knew how alone Wren had been since Ingram's death. _'Tis been three years now since we lost Nathanial. To see the captain showing an interest in someone again is all to the good...if Reese just wasn't an outsider._

"Do you plan on revealing yourself to him?" Evans caught Harold's eye. "I'm certain he must be right curious as to Shrike's identity. It won't be long before he starts asking after him....and it will most likely be me that Reese comes to first."

"I'm waiting for the right time." Wren shot back, guilt burning in his belly. 

Harold stopped.... _none of this is Evans' doing. He's only attempting to be of help, just as he always has._ His lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile.

"I apologize Mister Evans. I know that I must tell Mister Reese the truth; sooner rather than late. I think he may ask to join our crew. I hope that will be the case, at least."

Evans nodded, putting aside his work and moving to stand at his captain's side. 

"You know I will follow your orders Captain. You have my loyalty and my trust in this as in all things."

"And your friendship too, I hope."

Tyrell's answering grin was warm. "Always, my Captain."

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

_Port Royal; Inne of the Hanged Rogue_

Antonio Marconi sat in the darkest corner of the tavern’s common room. He’d made contact with Burton’s agent; paying the man well for his cooperation and his silence. There was naught to do now but wait. For the scar-faced pirate, this enforced idleness before a plan was set into motion was always hard to bear. 

Having instructed the overeager wench serving him to leave the bottle of rum and remove herself from Marconi's presence; he now nursed his drink, biding his time until his quarry’s ship made landfall and his crew entered the town.

Marconi, unlike most under Black Eli’s control, served his master out of love. He’d yearned for Charles’ approval from the outset and worked hard to come to the pirate’s notice. To be chosen as Eli’s right hand was all that Antonio could have wished for. To have the captain come to return his feelings only fueled Marconi‘s devotion. Nothing mattered more than the fulfillment of Burton’s desires. 

Antonio would gladly give up his life for his lover. To bring Shrike, the one man responsible for foiling so many of Burton’s elaborate plans, bound and humiliated to his captain was more than mere duty to Marconi....it would be his personal pleasure. He only hoped that Charles would allow him to be the one to kill Shrike in the end.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

NOTES: The plot thickens! Now that Reese is ambulatory, things on the 'Tern' can heat up accordingly. kmmerc, hope you liked the sandal scene (thanks again).


	6. Sleight of Hand

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter VI: Sleight of Hand  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)  
Word Count: 2450

NOTES: Misapprehensions, merriment and discussion of off-screen sexual activities will be forthcoming. You have been warned.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

_"That's Shrike....I'm certain of it!"_

In the week he'd been able enough to work, the former British officer kept his senses sharp; watching the **_Tern's_** crew with quiet intensity.

Reese'd spotted the tall, dark-haired man the day after Wren presented him with sandals. The stranger kept to the shadows; maintaining a distance between himself and the others. Jonathan noticed many of the crew subtly deferring to him and speaking in respectful tones.

Based on that evidence, Jon made up his mind. This man _must_ be Shrike. The knowledge reassured Reese. The commander of any ship would have many demands upon his time. Seeing Shrike out and about at last took away the air of mystery Jonathan had built up around the captain. _Granted I was in such poor condition at first...only now am I clear-headed enough to be aware of such things...or give consideration to my situation._ After all, hadn’t Shrike himself pointed out that Reese's life as a soldier was over?

Jonathan mulled over his potential future as he again assisted Lily and Adam to prepare the evening meal. He'd been horrified at first when the cook had told him what they would be making. The notorious stew was usually composed from the tag ends of whatever victuals were to hand; mixed with enough beer or rum to hopefully counteract any sickness rotten scraps might contain. Lily had laughed at the expression on the ex-soldier's face, easily reading his less than flattering thoughts. 

Adam's only reply was a knowing smile as he pulled potatoes from a wooden cask. Jonathan grimaced and set to work slicing the roots. As the wonderful aromas of the simmering concoction wafted up through the open hatchway, Reese acknowledged his error in judgment by bowing to the cook. Lily’s version of lobscouse was not only delicious but better than the food served to His Majesty’s army. _I should have known anything produced on this ship would be of a higher standard._

Reese was heartened by the pleasure that greeted the portions of stew and ship's biscuit he dispensed to the crew. Wren's murmur of "Thank you Jon." warmed the ex-soldier, as did the subtle brush of Harold's fingers against his own when Wren accepted his bowl. _Tonight,_ Jonathan thought, _when things are quiet I shall speak to him._

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

By the time Reese had finished cleaning up, he emerged from below decks to find the crew gathered in a loose circle around the main mast. Lionel Fusco stood in front of the great pillar of timber, gesticulating wildly and speaking to the others.

Jonathan looked around and spied Tyrell standing to one side of the main hatch; a man of oriental descent at his side. Evans had his arm slung over his companion's shoulders and the shorter man was tucked up against Ty's side. Reese approached the pair, nodding in reply to Evans' smile. Tyrell noticed Jon's eyes dart between him and the other man. The mate decided to approach his course head on and see what became of things.

"Evening Jonathan. I know you remember Leonard Tao, ship's purser and my partner."

Reese's eyes flew open. "You mean-"

Evans nodded "My lover, yes." Seeing the soldier's look of disbelief, the pirate frowned. "Object to that do you?"

Jon shook his head. "Not at all…just surprised by your candor. No man who prefers the company of his own sex would openly admit such on the ships I've traveled on."

Tyrell threw his head back and guffawed. Tao’s face split into a cheeky grin, which merely served to confuse Reese all the more.

"You've been mixing with the wrong kind of crews then, Jonathan. Mind you've not seen us taking much leisure but look around you man…." Evans gestured to the assembly in front of them. 

The crew listened with rapt absorption to the tale of mystery and suspense Mister Fusco wove for them with facile words; the man's lilting accent only adding to the mood. Now Reese looked, _really looked_ at the audience, noticing that all with the exception of Joss Carter had paired up with their own gender.

"You're…you're… _all of you_?"

Evans nodded. "The only man and woman together on this ship are Josslyn and Lionel and he's welcome to her." Tyrell grimaced. "Carter's tongue is sharp enough to pierce a cannon barrel."

Jonathan laughed in spite of his astonishment. His mirth died quickly though as a sudden thought crossed his mind. His eyes searched; intensely scanning the crowd before settling on Harold Wren's solitary figure at the rear of the group. He swallowed, a question burning its way through his brain. "What about….."

"Mister Wren?" Evans shook his head. "He's been alone these past three years, Mister Reese and I tell you plain…" The African's brown eyes grew cold. 

"Every member of this crew would have the guts of the man that plays Wren falsely for fiddle strings… _and_ scrape a lively tune from them for the bastard to dance the hemp jig to."

Tao, who'd remained silent throughout this exchange, jumped into the conversation, shifting excitedly from one foot to another. "It's really sad Jonathan, he's been so lonely since poor Na-"

"That's enough Leon!"

The Chinese man turned to his companion "But Ty, you know he has! The Captain-"

"I said **enough**! The _Captain_ doesn't like loose talk about any of the crew…you know that." Tao positively wilted under Evan's disapproval. 

Tyrell caressed the back of his lover's neck, reassuring him so that Leonard again pressed himself up against Evan's tall, muscular body. Jonathan was shamed to feel a tendril of envy snake through his gut at the obvious affection between the two pirates. He’d had the respect of the men under his command but Reese sorely missed the closeness that having a _companion_ engendered. 

Leon bobbed his head in apology at the soldier. "I'm sorry…I spoke out of turn."

Reese nodded in absent acknowledgement, the majority of his attention still fixed on Wren. Evan studied him for a long moment. 

"I know you've taken a yen to him, Jonathan and from what I've seen of you so far you appear to be honorable, but" Evans' demeanor was serious, "consider this your only warning."

Reese tore his gaze from Harold and saw the friendship Tyrell obviously felt for the older man in Evans' eyes. Jonathan nodded, offering the first mate a half-bow; his own expression serious. "I understand Ty. I would never break faith with him or _anyone_ on this ship. I owe all of you too much." 

Reese extended his hand and Evans clasped it warmly. "Then go carefully my friend and see how the two of you sail together."

Jonathan made his way around to where Wren was sitting. Tyrell and Leon watched as Reese greeted Harold and was welcomed by the older man. Jon sat down at Wren's side; both men wearing shy smiles.

Leon grinned up at his partner. "Looks as if the Captain's solo voyages are over now, mayhap Ty?"

Evans sighed. "He should have told Reese everything already. If he doesn't soon, then I can see a squall brewing on the horizon, I fear." He looked down at Leon's familiar and beloved face.

"Still, who am I to talk….I've put up with your nonsense for what is it…. _six years_ now?" Mirth caused Tyrell's voice to rumble; his laughter continuing as Tao puffed himself up in offended dignity.

"Tyrell Evans, I'll have you know that mmmph-" The rest of Leon's comment was blocked by Ty's lips. Tao returned the gesture in kind, with as much enthusiasm as Evans ever could have wished for. When they broke apart at last, Leonard was weak-kneed; leaning against his lover as he tried to regain his breath.

"You're a trial at times Leon, but you're _my_ cross to bear."

"You were much more appreciative last night when my mouth was-"

Ty silenced him again, this time maneuvering them both towards the hatchway as he continued to kiss Leon. What further conversation was needed could take place belowdecks…in private.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

Lionel followed his ghostly tale with a humorous one all about an insane captain who chased a whale no-one else could see; dragging his long-suffering crew all over the Caribbean. The pirates, Wren included were laughing uproariously by the time Fusco reached the end of the rambling narrative. Lionel took a bow, grinning at the hearty applause from his shipmates and settled in beside Carter, Taylor and Michael. He received enthusiastic hugs from his family; gratefully wetting his throat with a swallow of small beer from the mug Joss passed him.

The lighter mood prevailed, with several of the crew stepping up to provide music. Reese saw Lily pull out a wooden fife; Meg Tillman accompanying her on a bodhran. Young Mr. Sanders produced a concertina and Trask, squeezing Adam's shoulder in approval added a lively, clacking counterpoint to the tune with a set of bones. More than a few couples rose to dance; the others moving seats and crates out of the way to make room for them.

Jonathan leapt to assist, moving his own seat over to the railing and fetching drinks for Harold and himself. Wren smiled his thanks, tapping his toe to the merry jig and laughing with good-natured teasing at the wild movements of the dancers. Greatly daring, Jon leaned against the rail, draping his arm along the wood and over Harold's back. He stifled a shout of joy as Wren leaned into him, relaxing against Jon's torso. Harold rested on hand on Reese's knee; squeezing his fingers lightly once. Jonathan stroked Wren's shoulder with his thumb; feeling the older man's skin shiver in response. 

The ex-soldier scanned the throng again, this time searching for…. _there!_ Sure enough, up on the forecastle and in the shadows, the tall black-haired man Reese took to be Shrike sat with a brown-haired man close to his own height. _William…..Mister Szymanski, he must be Shrike's lover._ Jonathan could have cheered at this discovery. If Shrike and Szymanski were partnered then that meant the captain had no designs on Wren. That was all to the good, for based on Harold's reaction to his touches, Jon was encouraged that his interest was being returned in full measure.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

Many songs and stories later, the crew began to disperse. As the ship grew quiet, Reese took the opportunity to ask his companion just what quarry the **_Tern_** actually hunted. Harold thought for a long moment before replying.

"The business of piracy is just that Jon. Having said so however, I admit we are unusual in that regard." Wren gestured about the ship. 

"The **_Tern_** is different from most of the _brethren_ in that we choose our targets not by how much wealth they will bring us but to administer justice. They might be prison ships or military vessels intent on subjugation but most often they are slave carriers. There is not a soul aboard here who will advocate slavery, Jonathan. We will fight to the last man to free anyone in bondage and most of our profit comes the goods and gold the slave ships carry. Fleecing the pockets of the _masters_ of such vessels is merely a serendipitous benefit of liberating the human cargos they transport."

"What happens to those you free?"

"We give over the ships to them. Some choose to return to their homeland, others to settle in the islands. We leave them provisions and funds enough to make their respective journeys, along with crew to help man the vessels."

Wren gave the soldier a knowing look. "You'd be surprised, Jon how many sailors working on slave ships hate the trade with all their hearts. Some were pressed into service....for others it was the only employment they could find on the water; those are always more than happy to turn their hands to a cleaner voyage."

"And the brokers? The captors responsible?"

"Are set adrift. They live or perish due to their own abilities or lack thereof. We only shed blood to defend ourselves and then only mortally if it is unavoidable."

Reese felt his spirit lighten….. _this crew helps people; those who cannot help themselves! What are the odds that I would land in the company of such like-minded fellows all?_ There was one question yet that he needed answering.

"What made Shrike…of all of you choose to do this?"

Wren smiled. "Everyone on the **_Tern's_** crew was rescued Jon; the captain included. Saved from lives of bondage, unjust imprisonment or crushing poverty. Some chose to sign the articles because the lives they had led before caused similar injuries to others and they wanted to change. As each of us was given redemption, so we offer it to others."

Harold's pale eyes shone with conviction. "Everyone deserves a second chance, do they not?"

Reese turned away, casting his eyes out over the water as he felt his throat tighten. _A second chance…..Shrike saved me too. I'd have died without his help, without all of them._ He thought back to his first days on this most unusual of vessels. Confused, in pain, half dead from exposure and thirst. The **_Tern's_** crew had no cause to take him in and indeed every reason to leave him adrift.

He'd been cared for, fed and met with open-handedness on all sides. Even Tyrell's initial wariness had given way to friendship. Jon found he liked where the currents of fate had cast him and he wanted to stay. Wren's fingers closed over his, breaking into his reverie. 

"You are welcome to join us, if you wish."

Reese looked at the pirate, his heart swelling as he saw the warmth in Wren's smile. "And is that what _you_ wish, Harold?"

"It is Jon….it is indeed."

Their walk had taken them up to the quarterdeck, where they stood watching the moonlight play over the waves. Reese was very aware that he and Wren were the only two still on deck; apart from the first watch stationed in the bow. For all intents and purposes, they were alone.

"I would wish that too."

Jon leaned in and pressed his lips to Harold's, the kiss no less passionate for all its gentleness.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

NOTES: This chapter was going to be much longer but I’m stuck on the second half and rather than hold the whole thing back, I broke it up into two chappies. Hopefully my mental blocks will be gone soon!

For those of my readers who, unlike my history-geeky self, are not 'pirate heads', I'll include terminology descriptions as I go. As for where this chapter leaves off...there will be more to come soon and yes, eventually there will be hot, sweaty, Rinchy intercourse.....patience is recommended as is not lobbing dead fish at the author.

Lobscouse: a thick stew comprised of some type of meat and whatever vegetables or other ingredients are at hand. It was a common dish among sailors of the time period and most notable for being revolting at best.

Ship's Biscuit (aka 'Hardtack'): an extremely dry, hard cracker-like bread made from salt, flour and water. It was twice baked to remove as much moisture as possible, thereby rendering it almost inedible due to its teeth-breaking solidity. It was placed at the bottom of a bowl or cup and only could be eaten after absorbing enough liquid to soften it sufficiently. The low moisture content extended the food's 'shelf life' almost indefinitely. Indeed examples of ship's biscuit from over one hundred years ago are still in existence today and (theoretically) still edible. By the time of the American Civil War, ship's biscuit was being referred to as hardtack.

Hemp Jig: slang for hanging a man. Derives from the random, jerking muscle spasms of the body that can occur during death.


	7. Riding the Eddy

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter VII: Eddies  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Finch/Reese, Elias/Scarface  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)  
Word Count: 2100

NOTES: Explicit sexual encounter with dom/sub elements ahead...those who might find this triggery, consider yourselves apprised. Not so explicit encounter and some angst to follow.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

 _Port Royal; Inne of the Hanged Rogue_

Antonio Marconi climbed the rickety steps to the second floor, heading towards his night‘s rest. Another long day of waiting had at last come to a close and the seasoned veteran of Black Eli‘s crew found himself wishing that the time for him to act would come soon. Marconi was a fighter and inaction a course not suited to him. Even so, this was his role in the Captain's gambit and play it he would. He locked himself in his room, lighting only a single taper to relieve the gloom and began to undress.

A quiet sigh of satisfaction reached his ear and Marconi grinned into the folds of his shirt as he continued removing the garment. Only one man alive was able to come upon the pirate without detection and his presence in Antonio’s world would always be welcomed. He tossed it aside, flexing the muscles of his shoulders in response to the pleased sounds.

_“Tonio, il mio amore....”_

The simple words were infused with passion; the speaker’s desire lacing the declaration with rough overtones that sent pleasant shivers down Marconi’s spine. Antonio dropped his fingers to the buttons on his trousers; freeing them one by one and letting the heavy canvas slip down his legs until he could step out of it; kicking the pants away. He kept his back to his visitor, keenly aware of the other man’s gaze; swearing that he could feel a brush of warmth moving over his now naked body. Antonio swallowed, the pulse between his thighs attesting to his own longing.

“Show yourself to me.”

Obediently Marconi turned, his black eyes finding the shadowy outline of his visitor. Antonio squared his shoulders, standing proudly with his feet apart, hands clasped behind his back.

_“Bene, molto bene.”_

Burton beckoned his first mate closer and Marconi moved to stand a mere foot away from his Captain. Brown eyes roamed across the expanse of bronzed chest, lowering to take in the trim waist and lean hips before continuing downward to peruse thighs, calves and muscular feet. Charles spoke even as he carried out his visual inspection.

"There is a vast gulf between subservience and obedience....most are too stupid to comprehend the difference but you, _Mio Amore_ so perfectly illustrate the comparison. You will do anything I say, without defiance...go anywhere I send you without hesitation."

"Weak men fall to their knees in the presence of one who is stronger. Grovel obsequiously to those who are richer, more powerful, more _intelligent_." Eli's gaze flicked up to catch Marconi's. " _You_ are not subservient Antonio because you are not weak." The Captain's smile was one of proprietary smugness. 

"You are as the jaguar; powerful, lethal, cunning and very beautiful. Tell me _Amore_ why is it that you, out of everyone in this world offer me the gift of perfect obedience, yet do not bow or scrape to me?"

Marconi's black eyes gleamed in the faint candlelight. To him, it was simple. "Because I am yours."

_"Sì, è la verità."_ Elias' inclined his head in agreement. "I sensed this about you when you were first brought before me. I have seen the promise of it fulfilled in your actions ever since. With you I do not bargain, or cajole. I do not extend the promise of reward nor the threat of punishment....because such things are not required." Elias stood up, moving around behind Antonio.

"Bend over, grasp the end of the bed and spread your legs."

Marconi did so, his movements fluid without being overtly seductive. Although he waited silently for further commands, outwardly showing no emotion; Carl could see the faint shiver in his back muscles, the merest hint of desire leaking through Antonio's iron control. 

Black Eli had a hundred men....Charles Burton, thanks to his network of merchants, nearly a thousand but Carl Elias only had one.... _this one_ , more perfect and valuable than the sum of all the rest. It was he, Carl who had the greatest treasure of anyone, pirate or prince. He reached out, stroking the smooth planes of Antonio's back with reverent fingers. Marconi's cock was hard, its leaking tip pressing into his stomach as he waited with unending patience for Carl to take his pleasure.

"So beautiful, _mio amore_." Elias' hands left off and Marconi bit his lip to keep from voicing his disappointment. He wasn't kept wanting for long. Carl's fingers, now slippery with palm oil pressed between the firm globes of his backside. Antonio relaxed his pelvis, inviting his Captain's touch.

"Do you even realize how perfect you are, Antonio?" Elias smiled as he stroked the loosening ring of muscles. "How amazing you look, spread out...waiting, just for _me_."

Marconi's face was slack, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. His entire awareness was centered on the sensitive bundle of tissue his captain was manipulating. A half-strangled moan of need crossed his lips as Elias pressed a fingertip inside him. Carl smiled again, chuckling as the younger man squirmed.

"No Antonio....I want to hear you. Do you understand, mmm?"

_"Sì, il mio Capitano."_

_"No Amore...Questa sera io non sono il tuo capitano."_ Elias pulled out and Marconi groaned, dropping his head in apology. Carl rubbed his mate's hip in reassurance.

"I am not displeased 'Tonio, how could I be so with you?" Two fingers now teased Marconi's entrance and Antonio pushed backward, begging with his body even as the words spilled from him. 

_“Per favore....Io sono tuo. Always Carlo!”_

Elias obliged, stroking the blood-hot walls of Antonio’s passage as he worked his way in deeper. He kept up a string of whispered endearments and encouragement, while Marconi slowly unraveled. The younger man felt his knees buckle when Carl brushed his prostate; calling out his master’s name when Elias stroked it a second and third time.

_“In modo bello il mio amore._ Look at you my Antonio, how could you even _think_ I would be displeased?”

Marconi, beyond the ability of coherent speech, gasped in reply; sweat dripping from his forehead, his sides heaving. Carl patted Antonio’s flank with his free hand, as if settling a fractious horse. 

“You have done all that I have asked....been patient, unobtrusive and I know how hard waiting has been for you.” He pulled his fingers out halfway before plunging them deep; pistoning in and out in a fast pace.

“We are so close to completion, almost to our goal and I must have you at your best.” 

Carl thrust in again, his fingers curling upwards and Marconi came with a hoarse cry. Antonio felt hot semen coat his belly, heard it spatter on the warped wooden planks beneath his feet. Elias removed his hand and Marconi collapsed to his knees; fingers still gripping the footboard. He swallowed, sucking in huge lungfuls of air. Strong hands cupped his shoulders, urging Antonio to his feet and guiding him over to the bed. 

As he fell back onto the mattress, Marconi could hear the rustle of clothing. He didn’t realize what was happening until he felt warm skin pressing against his. Antonio’s arms wrapped around the captain, hugging him close like a lifeline. For a few precious moments, he allowed himself to take solace in the embrace then his eyes flew open and he struggled to free himself.

“You haven’t....I need to-”

“No ‘Tonio. There will be time enough for that before the night is over. Now was for your pleasure....mine is in taking care of you. _Resto il mio amore_ , I have you.”

Marconi’s eyes closed, relaxing back into his lover’s arms; his last conscious thoughts were of how wonderful Carl’s lips felt as they brushed his temple.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

_aboard the Tern, same evening_

_Reese looked at the pirate, his heart swelling as he saw the warmth in Wren's smile. "And is that what you wish, Harold?"_

_"It is Jon….it is indeed."_

_"I would wish that too." Jon leaned in and pressed his lips to Harold's, the kiss no less passionate for all its gentleness._

 

Harold was ecstatic. To have the handsome ex-soldier return his affections so openly was more than he had hoped. Jonathan’s touch was hesitant, reverent....as if he were lost in the wonder that he had the right to do such things at all. _So very different from Nathan’s casual familiarity but just as warm....and so satisfying._

Wren found himself grateful for the disparity. Reese’s embrace brought no thoughts of loss or regret, only a sense of peace and safety. He felt protected, cherished. Harold’s own arms wrapped about the muscular torso, pulling Jon closer as he rested his head against Reese's shoulder.

Reese’s lips brushed over Harold’s ear in a warm exhalation of breath; his voice full of quiet longing. “I’d hoped that you might be inclined to this.....with me I mean.”

Wren felt the steady thump of Jonathan’s heart, strong and alive beneath his cheek. 

“As I did with you, Jon. I pray you aren’t disappointed.”

“Never.” 

Wren shivered as large hands caressed his back and hips. 

_“Harold....”_

Both men moved in tandem, mouths finding each other as they began to kiss again. Harold, emboldened by Jon's eagerness, traced Reese's lips with his tongue.

Jonathan opened his mouth immediately and groaned as Harold deepened their kiss; yielding control to the older man. This is what he’d been yearning to find for so very long. He trusted Wren to lead this dance; to show Jon what he wanted and how best to please him. 

Wren drew back at last, taking in Reese's reddened cheeks and half-closed eyes. He felt the smooth skin shivering underneath his hand and realized how aroused Jon was. Harold rubbed along the top of Jon's chest, fingers ghosting over the firm muscles until he found the treasure he sought.

Jonathan whimpered as Wren pinched his nipple; rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingertips and causing it to tighten. Harold's fingers were bold as they teased him; his touch confident and assured. _Yes....yes....yes...._

"Harold…please…."

Wren reveled in the wantonness of Jon's reactions. The younger man was so responsive. _He would likely allow me take him right here...._

That thought sobered Harold at once. He couldn’t let himself to go that far, not until he told Jonathan the truth. To do otherwise would be a gross breach of Reese’s trust and a selfish indulgence of Wren’s baser instincts.

“Jon....Jon?”

“Harold?” Reese slowly became aware that Wren had released him. “What’s wrong? Did I-”

“Shh....no, it’s alright. It’s just, I’m not ready for-”

Jonathan’s face fell, the sorrow in his eyes causing a hard lump of guilt to settle in the pit of Wren’s stomach. “You mean, with me?”

“Jon, listen to me.” Harold cupped his companion’s chin, forcing the younger man to look him in the eyes. “I _do_ want to be with you Jon, to share your bed. I just need some time.”

Reese regarded him with such intensity, Harold felt as if his soul were being laid bare beneath Jonathan’s eyes. At last he nodded and Wren sighed in relief as the tension slowly drained from his companion’s face. Reese nuzzled the older man’s hair.

Jon could clearly see Wren’s caution warring with his desire and knew that Harold was being truthful in regards to his feelings. His smile was warm, as was the look of promise he turned on Wren.

“I am content to wait. I know you would never play me false, Harold and I pledge the same to you.”

Wren allowed Jonathan to pull him into another embrace, this one tender and felt his guts twist once more. He was prevaricating with Reese on the basest of levels; albeit without any nefarious intentions.

Taking Harold’s silence for indecision, Jonathan blurted “I will go to Shrike tomorrow, pledge my loyalty to him...to the crew and sign the articles at once if that will please you!”

Wren rubbed Jon’s forearms reassuringly. “Bide a day or two more and we will approach this matter together. Will you?”

“I will do anything you ask, Harold.”

Wren felt the prick of guilt again; this time it took more effort to shake it off. _Still, it is only until I can take him aside and explain things...perhaps with Mister Evans to assist. I’m certain he will understand, Jonathan is a reasonable man after all._

“Thank you.” Two words, such a meager expression of sentiment but the intent Harold put behind them encompassed so much more than mere gratitude. The cold knot of loneliness that had burdened Wren's heart for three years was beginning to dissolve. It was all due to Jonathan's regard for him.

Reese responded by holding Harold closer, pressing kisses on his cheeks forehead and neck. He paused there, breathing in Wren's scent to help settle himself. When he at last released the older man, Jonathan's face was contented. "I shall wait for your word. Goodnight Harold."

"Goodnight Jon."

With a last smile, Reese turned and made his way back to the main hatch; descending belowdecks to the hammock he'd been assigned.

Wren watched him go, thinking that perhaps, at last things would change for the better.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

NOTES: Elias & Scarface just _begged_ to have an interlude here. Black Eli is a terrible person; cruel, sadistic, utterly ruthless in the pursuit of his plans but he loves Antonio, he truly does (at least in this AU). Here's hoping that the online English/Italian translator I used actually is a decent one, lol!

There will be a crapload of angst that will hit the fan next chapter.....be ready.


	8. Foul Weather Approaching

Title: Eagle & Shrike  
Chapter VIII: Foul Weather Ahead  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Finch/Reese, Elias/Scarface  
Tags: m/m slash, pirates, h/c, historical, AU  
Characters: Finch, Reese, Fusco, Carter, Elias, Scarface, Snow (and a cast of thousands)

NOTES: Avast there, me hearties! 'Tis quite a storm we be sailin' into....best to batten down the hatches and stay below....ye have been warned!

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

 _Port Royal; Inne of the Hanged Rogue_

Antonio Marconi rolled over onto his stomach; wincing as the morning's light fell across his face. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he turned his head to see the other side of the bed empty.

A quick glance around his room showed no sign of his companion from the night before. The mate smiled....this too was typical of his captain. Elias considered the time spent with Marconi to be a deeply private thing and so 'Tonio, always sensitive to his lover's moods, knew better than to feel slighted by Carl's absence afterward.

He levered himself out of bed and as the sheets slipped onto the floor a flash caught his gaze. There on the mattress was a chain of hammered gold. Marconi scooped it up, marveling at the craftsmanship evident in each link. He swallowed as he lifted it; clasping it about his neck and feeling the weight of the precious metal against his skin. In the past two years that Carl and he had been lovers, the captain had never presented Antonio with any sort of token. For him to do so now was significant.

Marconi felt a warmth in his chest and he prepared for another day of waiting with renewed energy. He knew what he had to do and was willing to give his very life to ensure the outcome his captain wished. Antonio brushed the chain with reverent fingers. He would not fail.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

_The **Tern** , same day_

Reese was up with the dawn, taking the morning tasks in turn with his soon to be shipmates. Jonathan was determined to show his commitment towards joining the crew. His industry had the side benefit of keeping him from exerting any pressure on Harold for a decision. All the same he was keenly aware of the other man's presence when Wren was on deck. Jon listened for the sound of Harold's voice or the uneven cadence of his footfalls as he passed. He was so caught up in watching Wren's backside while Harold ascended the quarterdeck ladder that he started at the unexpected hand on his shoulder.

Lionel laughed as Reese caught his breath and pointed upward. "Feel like trying your hand at watch duty, Jonny-boy?"

Jonathan nodded, smiling in response to Fusco's teasing. He knew the bluff, boisterous man did so out of friendship and Jon often reciprocated in kind. Lionel had taught Jonathan the basics of how to navigate the ship's rigging but today was the first time the ex-soldier climbed as high as the crow's nest. He followed after the quartermaster, easily keeping up with Fusco.

The Irishman showed Reese how to use the knotted rope at the top of the mainmast to climb hand over hand in order to swing his legs above the railing of the wooden platform. Jonathan was surprised to find a waterskin and an oiled canvas bag containing jerked fish and ship's biscuit. Lionel grinned at him. 

"Tis thirsty work sometimes, when the sun is hot....but we bring no spirits up here. A drunk watchman can bring disaster on us by missing a ship or storm. Not to mention the risk of falling to your death."

Jonathan agreed and listened carefully as Fusco explained about alternating directions based on changes in the wind and the sun. For the next three hours of the watch, the two men switched off lookout duty; passing the time by getting to know each other. Jon got the full history of how Lionel and Joss were married and of Lionel's first wife's desertion of him and his young son.

"I can't blame her overmuch..." Fusco shrugged. "Most likely we shouldn't have wed in the first place. I was a porter then, unloading and loading shipped goods along the docks of Port Royal. Peg wasn't happy living on such a meager income. I'm surprised she stayed until Mick was in his third year."

Reese listened to the quartermaster's story; offering up small tidbits of his own past from time to time but studiously avoiding the circumstances of how he'd come to be rescued by the pirates. For his part, Lionel didn't ask....knowing in his bones that when Reese felt comfortable enough he'd tell his tale. Fusco was hoping that Wren would hear it first in any case.

Lionel and his son had joined the _**Tern's**_ crew a year later and it was the bond of each having a child to raise that first led to his and Josslyn's striking up a friendship. Fusco had not intended on finding a mate among the pirates, especially given the nature of the rest of the company but he found himself strongly attracted to Carter's bright personality. 

"Joss'll always tell you what she thinks." Lionel's tone oozed affectionate admiration. "I trow Jonathan, after being with a woman that demanded I read her thoughts; I'll never complain about Joss's outspoken ways....'nor her temper. The times _after_ the arguing are more than worth it!" Fusco winked at him before taking up the spyglass again to search the horizon.

Reese smiled, peering over the railing to the deck below. The crew looked like ants crawling about..... _there!_ Jonathan’s eyes caught the halting movement of Wren making his way to the forecastle. The ex-soldier’s heart warmed. _May we never have cause to fight,_ Jon prayed to the fates, _mind you, there’s not much I would not agree too in order to keep my place at Harold’s side._

“Ship!”

Jon turned to his companion; Fusco’s shoulders had tensed. “What is it Lionel?”

"Ship on the horizon and it’s closing fast.” The quartermaster squinted. “She's flying Spain's colors…and the royal crest!" 

Reese scowled. “I’ll inform the captain.”

“No, you take over here” Lionel shoved the spyglass into Jon’s hands. “You’ve eyes a bit younger than mine. Keep her in sight.” 

With those terse instructions, Fusco leapt nimbly over the rail; swinging into the rigging and scrambling down like a spider. Reese trained the ‘glass back on the approaching vessel. Lionel was right....it was a Spanish royal ship.

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

 

Down on deck, Fusco was repeating his findings to his captain and first mate. Wren looked up in alarm.

“Don’t worry Sir....Jonathan’s far too busy watching the vessel to notice what’s going on down here.”

Harold nodded, reassured.

Evans cast a glance at Wren. "What think you?"

Harold pursed his lips as he mulled over possibilities. "There is much unrest in Phillip's kingdom. From what Mister Fusco says, the vessel is too small to be a merchant one and it is bearing directly towards a penal colony. Political prisoners then, I'd hazard."

Tyrell nodded. "I agree."

Nicholas joined them, cocking an ear to catch the conversation and looked from Wren to Evans. “What’s to be done, Captain?”

Wren's smile was more a grimace as he nodded to Donnelly. "Let us give them another chance at freedom then, shall we?"

Harold jerked his chin upward. “We’ll need your hands for the upcoming confrontation Mister Fusco. Please send young Mister Carter up to relieve Mister Reese. I’ll speak with him when he comes down.”

“Aye Captain.” Lionel’s whistle brought Taylor at a run and the quartermaster sent him skyward.

“Remember to address me as Mister Wren or Harold, if you please.”

Donnelly’s black eyes were speculative as he murmured an assurance to his commander. “You will tell him soon, won’t you Sir? He’s a good man; more than proven himself to us all I’d say and he’s that fond of you.”

Wren grumbled. “Is _everyone_ on board this rickety tub overly concerned about my personal business?”

Evans and Donnelly exchanged glances before replying in unison, “Yes!”

“You should be touched that we care about you so much, Captain.” Lionel quipped as he rejoined the group. Wren rolled his eyes as the other men laughed. 

“He’s coming now Sir.” Donnelly whispered. Jonathan disentangled himself from the lines and looked around, seeing Wren huddled up with the first mate, Fusco and the man he took to be Shrike. He headed towards them.

Conscious of Jon's eyes upon him, Harold murmured instructions to Evans, allowing the African bellow out orders to the crew. While everyone rallied to their stations, Wren turned and intercepted Reese before he could join the group.

"Jonathan, we are going to engage the Spanish ship. The captain thinks it would be best if you kept belowdecks until we've taken it."

Reese frowned. "I'm a soldier, Harold. I can't just stand idly by during this." He paused, choosing his next words with great care. "It's a slave ship?"

Wren shook his head. "No. It is almost certainly a convict ship, from the King himself. We intend to free the prisoners, who most likely are only guilty of disagreeing with the severity of their monarch's laws."

"Then let me help!" Jonathan's frustration was manifest. 

Harold sighed, appreciating how Reese felt but unable to allow him to truly fight. 

"You cannot be given arms until you sign the ship's articles and," Wren’s fingers plucked at Reese's shoulder to calm him. "that requires witnessing by the entire company. An exercise that we do not have time for at present."

"Harold!"

"Jon, _please_ …." Wren allowed himself the luxury of resting his hand on the man's arm. "After this business is done, we'll talk about everything, including taking this issue before the crew." Harold smiled, his eyes warm. 

"I am certain there will be no disagreement as to its outcome."

Reese nodded grudgingly, understanding that his personal desires must be set aside for the moment. "I'll stay out of it if I can but I won't hide and you have to promise me you'll leave the fighting to the others." 

"I cannot. I have my duty to my fellows and this ship." Wren drew himself up, shoulders stiffening with dignity. "I am not the most able of combatants, it's true but I _will_ do my part, just as I always have."

Jonathan's heart swelled with pride. Physically compromised Wren might be but he lacked nothing for courage. Heedless of any who might be witness to his actions, Jon pulled the older man to him, wrapping his strong arms around the slender body and lowering his face to Wren's.

"Then by all that's holy, have care. If you need me, I will come to you." So saying he covered Harold's mouth with his own in a fierce kiss, laughing joyfully in his mind as he felt Wren's hands grip the front of his shirt. The pirate bit Jon‘s lip, growling at him. 

“You have care as well, Mister Reese. We have an _accounting_ of our own to settle as well.”

“Aye, Harold.”

“Please keep by the quarterdeck,” Wren drew his rapier, taking a few practice swipes to warm up the muscles in sword arm. His eyes caught Jonathan’s and Harold allowed the emotions he’d held in check the past day to surface. “I love you.”

“I love you too!”

Reese watched the pirate limp over to take a position with the mainmast at his back. Evans and Donnelly were ranged to either side and slightly in front of him. Carter had the guns primed and ready; Michael stationed by the main hatch, powder bags in hand and waiting for Joss’ signal to begin re-supplying the gunners.

The majority of the crew were on deck, secreted behind barrels, crates and piles of canvas; their numbers not visible to the approaching vessel. Meg Tillman, Lily and Adam remained belowdecks, readying a makeshift infirmary to care for any injuries that came from the battle. Fusco manned the _**Tern's**_ wheel, alert for orders.

The Spanish ship sailed closer, oblivious to the warm reception it was about to receive. When they were about five hundred yards out, Evans gave the order to come about. Lionel leaned on the great wheel, knowing their opponent would be within firing range by the time the ship completed its maneuver. Ty signaled Carter who relayed the order to fire the starboard guns. The fuses were ignited sequentially; the resulting shots going off one after another for a more sustained volley. Taylor raised Shrike's colors at the same moment; the black flag unfurling to snap in the wind.

Jonathan could feel the boom of the great guns resonate through his very bones as the _**Tern**_ rocked port-wise from the cannons' recoil. In spite of the seriousness of what they faced, the ex-soldier couldn't help baring his teeth in anticipation. 

_And so it begins......_

**shrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrikeshrike**

NOTES: The battle is joined but what repercussions will this engagement engender and how will Harold and Jonathan deal with them? For the answers to these and other burning questions; stay tuned for the next thrilling chapter of 'Eagle & Shrike'.....coming soon to AO3!


End file.
